


Blueberry Pie

by Nikolaus_Chaser



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, blueberry pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolaus_Chaser/pseuds/Nikolaus_Chaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester always did love blueberry pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blueberry Pie

Sometimes on rainy days in the fall, when the sky was dreary and the house was cold, Mama would warm it by baking one of her infamous blueberry pies- the kind with a flaky crust and sticky sweet filling that leaves your fingers all messy. When Mama died Dean thought that he’d never taste that pie again. Yet there he was, sitting at Castiel Novak’s dining room table eating a pie that tasted just like my Mama’s, right down to the filling. Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe he was crazy, but that pie tasted like home. 

That was the moment Dean thinks he realized that he should marry Castiel Novak.

He was 16 years old, then. Dean looks back on that day now and wonders what a fool he was, to think that a boy like Castiel Novak would ever marry a poor farmer boy like him! Of course, he thought he was a fool then, too. That’s why as soon as he finished that pie and courteously thanked Castiel for the treat, he rushed out with the excuse that he had chores waiting for him at home.

When high school ended, Dean went and begged the local druggist for a job stocking medicine shelves, and Castiel went off to college in New York. He saw him to the train station the day that he left, and Dean can still remember it like it was yesterday. The air was dry and the sun was hot, beating down on the two of them as they stood by the doors of the train car, the smell of steam and burning coals overwhelming their senses. He wore a pair of brown trousers and a white button-down, his messy black hair sticking up in every direction, like it always used to.  Loose strands blew into his face on occasion, and he would have to push his hair out of his eyes- blue eyes- so that he could see. He told Dean before he got on the train to take care of himself, and how he had wanted to kiss him then! But that wouldn’t have been right of him, because Dean was just a farmer boy and he was Castiel Novak.

Imagine Dean’s surprise when Castiel kissed him instead, his pale pink lips pressing carefully to Dean’s raw, chapped ones.  Time seemed to stop- maybe it did, Dean still isn’t sure- and Dean couldn’t help but smile against Cas’s lips.  He had, after all, wanted this for so long and for so long denied himself of it.  But now here he was, standing in a cloud of engine smoke with his fingers clutching at the fabric of Castiel’s shirt, their lips locked together in the best kiss Dean had ever had in his life.  He stumbled backward when their lips parted, didn’t catch Castiel’s words when he asked Dean to come with him, just nodded his head and wished him good luck in New York.  He waved to him as he boarded the train, and Cas waved back to him as it began to pull out of the station, metal wheels screeching against the tracks. There was a shimmer in his bright blue eyes that almost looked like tears as the car pulled away, but Dean knew that it was just a trick of the light. Just his hopeful mind fooling him into believing that Cas loved him just as much as he loved Cas.

He often wrote to Dean from college. Long letters that detailed his adventures in the city, the people that he met, how much he loved it in him new home. He also spoke of how he missed Kansas, and how every now and then he just wanted to get back on the train and come home. Sometimes it seemed like his letters spoke of how much he missed _him_ , and how much he wanted to come home to _him_ , but Dean knew that that wasn’t true. A boy like Castiel Novak could never love a boy like Dean Winchester!

So, when Dean’s daddy told me that it was time for me to find a spouse and start his own family, Castiel Novak didn’t even come to mind. Why would he? What was the point in even thinking about it, with him being the man he was and Dean being the poor farm boy that he was. Not to mention, Dean’s daddy would positively kill him if he ever knew that he loved another man.  It just wasn’t something that happened out there in Kansas.  Maybe in New York, where Cas was, but not in Kansas. 

So he started dating the butcher’s daughter, Lisa Braeden, painfully. Six months later he proposed to her, and then they were married.

All of that was ten years ago. He tries not to think of Cas anymore, or of that blueberry pie he had made that tasted so much like home. He knows that Cas made it big somewhere, probably married a banker and lives in a big old house with his children, now.  He probably bakes blueberry pie for them too, and Dean reckons that they love it just as much as he used to.  And he know that it’s better this way, that he never could have given him the life he really deserved.

The screen door creaks open, and Dean looks up to see Lisa standing there wearing her faded blue apron around her waist, a smoldering cigarette hanging loosely from her chapped lips. She plucks the bud from her mouth, blowing smoke into the wind as she squints at him.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks. Dean shrugs, not looking towards her as I answer.

“Blueberry pie." 

Lisa laughs, but it’s an empty sound, almost as if she feels obliged to laugh.  For some reason, the sound of it makes Dean’s chest ache. "That’s always your answer,” she drawls out, “You must really love blueberry pie.”

He smile fondly, turning his head to look at my wife.  She has her hands on her hips, her thin black hair framing her pale face.  A small smile tugs at her lips, but that smile doesn’t reach her eyes.  It never reaches her eyes.  He looks away again, sighing out my response as he thinks of how his wife will never be any bit like Castiel Novak.

“You’re right. I really do.”


End file.
